"FEIST, Raymond E - The RiftWar Saga - 1 - Magican" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feist Raymond E)

To the south, the high bluffs of Sailor's Grief reared up against the sky, as
waves crashed against the base of that rocky pinnacle. Whitecaps started to
form behind the breakers, a sure sign the storm would quickly strike. Pug
knew he was in danger, for the storms of summer could drown anyone on the
beaches, or if severe enough, on the low ground beyond. He picked up his
sack and started north, toward the castle. As he moved among the pools, he
felt the coolness in the wind turn to a deeper, wetter cold. The day began
to be broken by a patchwork of shadows as the first clouds passed before
the sun, bright colors fading to shades of grey. Out to sea, lightning
flashed against the blackness of the clouds, and the distant boom of
thunder rode over the noise of the waves. Pug picked up speed when he came
to the first stretch of open beach.

The storm was coming in faster than he would have thought possible,
driving the rising tide before it. By the time he reached the second
stretch of tide pools, there was barely ten feet of dry sand between
water's edge and cliffs. Pug hurried as fast as was safe across the rocks,
twice nearly catching his foot. As he reached the next expanse of sand, he
mistimed his jump from the last rock and landed poorly. He fell to the
sand, grasping his ankle. As if waiting for the mishap, the tide surged
forward, covering him for a moment. He reached out blindly and felt his
sack carried away. Frantically grabbing at it, Pug lunged forward, only to
have his ankle fail. He went under, gulping water. He raised his head,
sputtering and coughing. He started to stand when a second wave, higher
than the last, hit him in the chest, knocking him backward. Pug had grown
up playing in the waves and was an experienced swimmer, but the pain of his
ankle and the battering of the waves were bringing him to the edge of
panic. He fought it off and came up for air as the wave receded. He half
swam, half scrambled toward the cliff face, knowing the water would be only
inches deep there. Pug reached the cliffs and leaned against them, keeping
as much weight off the injured ankle as possible. He inched along the rock
wall, while each wave brought the water higher. When Pug finally reached a
place where he could make his way upward, water was swirling at his waist.
He had to use all his strength to pull himself up to the path. He lay
panting a moment, then started to crawl up the pathway, unwilling to trust
his balky ankle on this rocky footing. The first drops of rain began to
fall as he scrambled along, bruising knees and shins on the rocks, until he
reached the grassy top of the bluffs. Pug fell forward exhausted, panting
from the exertion of the climb. The scattered drops grew into a light but
steady rain.

When he had caught his breath, Pug sat up and examined the swollen ankle.
It was tender to the touch, but he was reassured when he could move it: it
was not broken. He would have to limp the entire way back, but with the
threat of drowning on the beach behind him, he felt relatively buoyant. Pug
would be a drenched, chilled wretch when he reached the town. He would have
to find a lodging there, for the gates of the castle would be closed for
the night, and with his tender ankle he would not attempt to climb the wall
behind the stables. Besides, should he wait and slip into the keep the next
day, only Megar would have words for him, but if he was caught coming over